Does it matter? I think so. What would a dark Italian beauty be called? Francesca, maybe? Yes, it suits her. His voice invades the inside of my head a...ain: "I love watching you, Francesca. Your body turns me on. When my face is wet with your come and I finish with my tongue on your clit I'm going to slip my cock inside you and listen to your panting, crying out for me as I fuck you." The name sticks. She is my Francesca. I watch her dance in the figure-hugging corset for the man, rubbing the. Suddenly she was standing, making a scene in class. What was happening?Then, things got stranger. Janet felt her clothes grow tighter. She looked down. Her white button up blouse was suddenly much tighter. Her skirt confining her legs. Her shoes felt tight. Was she... growing? She was! The class watched as she grew taller and taller. Her skirt rode up her tighs. Her shirt stretched, buttons straining. No one was more shocked then Janet.Then, her shirt could take no more. POP POP POP! The. I thought no big deal at the time, because I felt confident that I was just like everyone else. When I started class, I changed into the shorts and tee shirt provided. But when the class ended, the instructor advised everyone that they had to take a shower before changing in to our regular clothes. Now, that is something I had never done. Get completely naked with twenty other boys and wash myself was just a bit of a shock. But I did as told. I removed all my clothes and walked to where I. ”“You liked it when we were dancing at the club rubbing your pussy against it, sliding up and down like you're a fucking pole dancer. Come on and get your ass over here and ride me!”“Fuck you!”“You can’t take your eyes off it. Look how big and hard it is. I know you want it. So stop playing games.”“I don’t play games. When I want something, I know how to get it.”“Is that so?”“Yeah!”“Tell me wearing that short tight dress with your tits barely covered and those knee high boots isn’t playing.